Page 113 of Fault Lines
“We were just about to head out, actually,” Nate said, his voice a little louder, as if hoping more volume would change the mood. “I’m taking Livi to her favorite little lunch spot. We go there all the time.”
I wanted to strangle him. He was making an awkward encounter even worse, and from the way Cam’s eyes narrowed, I could tell he’d never believe our lunches were just about sandwiches and iced tea.
“I’m sure Livi can find time for her man today, though,” Cam replied, his tone so dry I felt it crackle between us. “We hardly ever have time together, and, like you said, you go with her regularly. So, if you don’t mind-”
Nate shifted, a step closer, and I put my hand on his chest, stopping him before anything more could happen.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” I said quickly, directing it at Nate. “Okay? We’ll have lunch tomorrow.”
Nate opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Mr. Porter stepped in, picking up on the tension at last.
“Come now, Nate, you can take me out instead. It’s been a while. Let the man spend his time with his wife.”
Nate’s jaw clenched and for a second and I wondered if he’d keep pushing, but he just set his lips in a hard line.
“Fine. I’ll see you in an hour. We have to get that new display up before the release tomorrow,” he said, the edge in his voice obvious. The look he gave me held a trace of hurt, and I offered him an apologetic smile, which didn’t seem like nearly enough.
I didn’t want to go anywhere with Cam, but I knew I had to face things now that he’d caught me in my lie. Not that it shouldhave mattered. At least I wasn’t pregnant with another man’s child.
I trailed after Cam down the sidewalk, my chest tight, until we reached my favorite spot and sat on the patio of the bistro. The sun was warm. I wished I could melt into the chair and disappear.
Cam ordered for both of us, not even glancing in my direction, and I didn’t bother to protest. There was no point in arguing over something that small when there were so many bigger battles waiting.
We sat in silence until the waitress left with our order, and then Cam started.
“So.” He didn’t look at me. “Six months? Four? When were you going to tell me you were working there?”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Then why lie about it?”
“I didn’t. I do spend a lot of time reading on the couch and drinking coffee in there. That’s all true.”
“Semantics, Livi.” He let out a sharp huff. “How long did you wait after I asked for an open marriage to get this job?”
I leaned back, crossing my arms. “Not long.”
He stared at me, his eyes dark. “So you were looking for an out, even as you agreed to let me do it. Jesus, Livi, why didn’t you just tell me how you really felt? And what made you think you needed a job? Did you honestly believe I’d leave you high and dry financially?”
“I didn’t know what to expect,” I shot back, the words coming faster than I intended. “You completely blindsided me. I thought we were happy, even after our bad news—I thought nothing would come between us. But then you told me I wasn’t enough for you anymore. I never, ever thought I’d hear that from you. So I tried to be ready for anything.”
The waitress set our food on the table and I breathed a little easier. The sooner this was over, the sooner I could get away from Cam and all the mess he made.
“What happened to giving me space?” I finally managed, once she had walked off again. “Showing up at my job a day or two after agreeing to give me space is not giving me time.”
“For one,” Cam snapped, “I didn’t know I was showing up atyour jobbecause I didn’t know you had one! For two, I love you too much to stay away. I didn’t come here to pressure you, I just couldn’t stand another day of not seeing you. I’m weak when it comes to you, Livi. You’re my heart.”
The anger drained out of me. I lifted my sandwich, chewing more to keep from saying something I’d regret. I didn’t know what to do with the man across from me. My husband. The love of my life. The liar who kept breaking my heart.
“I need to know there’s hope,” he said, after the silence stretched. “I need to know you still love me. Even after everything.”
“Of course I still love you. I wish I could stop, but I can’t. Things would be so much easier if I could.”
He flinched, and immediately I felt the old ache of guilt.
“I’m sorry, baby. I know I’ve apologized over and over, but I mean it every time. I regret what I did. I’d give anything to go back and change it. I’d never ask you for that again.”
“You regret making your child?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.
